


The Turkish Delight Affair

by Rigel99



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), James Bond (Craig movies), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Let's see where it goes, M/M, Multi, Sass with a side order of snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99





	1. Chapter 1

**Istanbul, End of Joint MI6/U.N.C.L.E. Mission**

At the knock on his hotel room door, Bond ceased his carpet-wearing pace and strode in quick long steps. He peeped through the hole expectantly and immediately exhaled a sigh of relief. Opening the door without hesitation, he ended his exhale on one syllable, “Q.”

Q stood flanked by Solo and Kuryakin, looking somewhat worse for wear, minus his glasses, but all limbs seemed intact.

“James…” he murmured, a pained look of relief flitting across his face before practically falling into his arms.

“As promised, Commander,” Napoleon said briskly, “safe and—“ the end of the sentence trailing off at the sight of the hot and unyielding kiss Q was returning to Bond.

“….sound…” Napoleon stared. Ilya’s cough snapped his mouth shut.

“Time to leave perhaps, Cowboy,” Illya mumbled, finding the corridor’s wallpaper design suddenly very interesting. Bond pushed the door shut never breaking the kiss.

“Well,” Napoleon sighed, “that was unexpected.”

“Don’t see why,” Illya replied, turning to leave, “boy is very attractive,” he continued with a casual shrug. “I would.”

Napoleon could only stare at the broad, retreating back, before kicking his brain into gear.

“Wait… What?!”

But Illya’s long stride has already carried him around the corner on the way to the elevator.

“Peril!”

Napoleon quickened his step and managed to catch the elevator door a second before it closed the gap. All six-foot massive of Ilya stood there next to him, his usual calm, centred self. Well, at least calm when he felt he had the upper hand on his partner, a rare but enjoyable moment to be savoured.

Napoleon huffed a brief sigh through his nostrils, while giving Illya a side glance. “I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate on that comment?”

Ilya kept his gaze on the door. “To your credit, though a terrible spy, Solo, you are good at telling lies and sleight of hand.” Napoleon allowed his ego a brief moment of inflation. “While I,” he continued, “am excellent at keeping secrets and winning strategies.”

Napoleon frowned, the elevator pinging to grant them access to their floor. “And how does that answer my question?”

“It doesn’t,” Illya replied, extracting his room keycard from the inside of his jacket. He turned to Napoleon from the other side of the door. “What it does tell you is to mind your own business,” he finished with a tight lipped, politely feigned smile before swinging the door shut in his face.

Ilya smiled, listening to the frustration in Solo’s stride carry him down the corridor to his room. “Still so much to learn,” he muttered to himself.

* * *

**Three Days Previously, U.N.C.L.E. Safehouse.**

Gaby poured herself a coffee, reaching for the cream. Napoleon materialised beside her.

“Are you sure you need that?” Napoleon asked, reaching for the coffeepot himself. “The pleased feline look on your face when you came into the room suggests you had your fill last night already.”

Gaby put down the jug and turned to him. She said nothing, but looked over her shoulder towards the tall windows and the early morning Moroccan sun streaming through, bathing her Russian compatriot, Illya Kuryakin in its warm glow. Napoleon followed her gaze. Gaby smiled on feeling the slight bristle emanating from Solo, both of them watching for a few moments more at the rapt attentions bestowed upon whatever bustle was occurring on the streets below. There were times when Kuryakin looked so innocent, like a boy forever discovering new things. As though aware of being watched, Illya glanced in their direction, casting Gaby a small nod and accompanying smile by way of a good morning greeting and a brief almost dismissive look at Solo before returning to his study of the Moroccan streets.

“Jealous?” she asked, an innocent lilt to her tone, turning back to top her coffee with the creamy liquid. “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Teller,” Napoleon replied. Of course, he knew exactly what she meant because right now, it appeared that he, American espionage’s finest (arguably) Lothario was the only one in the room who didn’t get laid last night. Well, except Kuryakin, but he didn’t count…

“I can’t believe we’re stuck with each other for another mission,” sighed Solo, faux dramatic, pouring himself a coffee. 

“Well maybe if you refrain from poking the Russian Bear with your big stick of sassy sarcasm, this mission may go a little more smoothly?” 

“You would deny me my one joy in this life?” he asked, raising the strong, heady brew to his lips with a grin.

Gaby was about to dress him down on his attitude when the door opened and Alexander Waverly and a stunning looking dark-skinned woman in a sharp-lined red suit entered the room.

“Good morning, everyone. Good of you to join us,” said Waverly, planting his case onto a side table and placing his hands behind his back. 

Napoleon watched Gaby from the corner of his eye - scrutinising, assessing and contemplating the new addition to the room. The woman in question, for her part, gave little away, aside from a congenial smile to convey a sense of ally rather than adversary. Waverley half-turned to his associate, for want of a better word, to make the introductions.

“I’d like to introduce Eve Moneypenny. She has come to us with a proposition from the top of MI6…"

* * *

“Still much to learn, lad!” Boothroyd said, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. His protege was standing at his station, mouth slightly agape at the events that had unfolded on the screen before his eyes. It was the first time Arthur had co-coordinated a field mission. This development of closer alignment of Q Branch and Double O operations was a relatively new endeavour, initially resisted by Boothroyd but championed by M.

The Major was finally coming round to the idea, particularly since agent survival rates - and the return of Q Branch equipment - had skyrocketed in the last two years.

Arthur turned from the screen, looking slightly dazed. “I have no idea how she made that jump… she - Moneypenny -could have died, Sir, and it would have been because…”

“Now now, lad, none of that! Such thoughts are a slippery slope in this line of work and it does no one any good - either here or in the field - to harbour doubts.” He placed his hand on his opposite shoulder to steer him out of the bullpen. “You are here because you are top of your peers in intelligence and innovation.”

Arthur could only blush. Boothroyd chuckled. “But if you tell anyone else I said that, I’ll deny it vehemently,” he said with a wink. So Arthur did just that and ignored the compliment.

“What’s next on the agenda, Major?”

Boothroyd huffed a breath. “Well I think a spot of lunch is in order and after that, we have another agent to kit out. M’s sending another agent in support of the current operation in Istanbul. You’ll be handling him for me. I’ve to prepare our plan of action with M for undercover operative extraction, should it come to that.”

“Who’s the agent?” Arthur enquired.

“Oh you’ll find out soon enough. But I can assure you he’s a bloody menace…”

* * *

Bond felt good, genuinely good. Revenge was sweet and he was nursing the satisfied feeling of a man who had gone some way to exorcising the demons that had plagued him since Venice. It wasn’t a perfect way to lay them to rest, but it helped to realign his value system. Twisted though it was at times, it did serve his country well if in a somewhat unorthodox manner.

Throughout these idle musings, Bond had taken to resting a thigh on the corner of Villiers desk while he waited for M to summon him forth.

Villiers was eyeing the offending part of his anatomy invading his workspace for a good 90 seconds before finally mustering up the courage to say, “must you, 007?”

Bond looked down from his perch. “Must I what?”

Villiers gestured to the corner of the anteroom. “There is a perfectly comfortable spot over there, one that is actually designed for sitting on.”

Bond liked Villiers quite a lot. Frankly, any man who could work at the beck-and-call of M and still maintain their sanity deserved a Medal of Honour as far as he was concerned. Sometimes Bond just couldn’t help helping himself though. He rose with a quirk to his lips just as the intercom buzzed.

“That’s your cue, 007. Good luck,” he said with curl of the corner of his mouth.

“Luck and I are long-standing bedfellows, and believe me, there’s nothing good about her,” he replied heading for the padded door.

Where Bond was concerned, Villiers had little doubt that statement was true.

_ **Later that same evening...** _

The room was in chaos. Clothes scattered everywhere from pillar to post. His cats hiding under the living room couch. The bed was a wreck. And amidst this chaos the eye of the storm, lying tangled in his bed linen dozing in a post-coital haze, was one James Bond.

_“A bit young to be playing in the big boys pen, aren’t you?” Bond observed._

_Arthur tilted his chin but maintained his cool in the face of the insult. No doubt Bond thought it would be fun to test him._

_"I doubt my youth will be as wasted on me as yours was on you, 007,” he levelled back, handing him his gun and the locator for the hard drive of which Ronson, Moneypenny and Turner were currently in pursuit._

_Bond studied him for a few moments. Arthur noted the shift in demeanour and the point at which a decision was made._

_"I have a few hours to kill before my flight. How would you feel about helping me put your equipment through its paces?”_

And so here they were.

Of course, he’d seen James occasionally around Six, occasionally in passing noted him terrorising Boothroyd in Q Branch but had never had a reason to engage him. That was until his recent promotion. Bond had never noticed him before. But now, now he had fallen into Bond’s crosshairs.

He continued to watch the slumbering form - golden and scarred - from the bedroom door, while sipping a glass of water. Arthur checked his watch and made a call. After hanging up, he sat down on the edge of the bed to rouse the agent.

Bond groaned and buried his face in the pillow and inhaled, the aroma of the Q Branch staffer bringing him back to where he was. He tilted his head to the side with a slow smile to meet his gaze.

“I’ve called you a Heathrow taxi. Should be here in about 45 minutes.”

Bond rumbled some affirmative and swung an arm around a naked waist, taking what he wanted once more and with the fervour of a man taking it for the last time.

Maybe he was. But Arthur’s day had been rough and he was in no mood to deny himself what was on offer so he submitted willingly to the singular attentions bestowed upon him. It might be the one and only time he’d have this but Arthur was a man who knew how to make the best of the little wins life saw fit to put in his path. It was, after all, one of the qualities that had secured a life in service of Queen and Country, a service that would be tested very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t the wake-up call Arthur had been expecting, one hour after Bond had left a tingling kiss on the nape of his neck and he’d mumbled something incoherent incorporating the words, “off” and “bugger.” He felt the same response in this instance might not go down so well.

“Are we certain my presence is absolutely necessary, Sir?” he croaked through a sleep-dry throat.

_“Granted it’s not a typical request of Q Branch staff and I didn’t envisage you’d be assisting the handling of the Double Os on location…”_

Arthur blushed at Q’s words, thankfully his black and white domestic long-hair was the only one in the room to witness that. _“But it’s M’s prerogative and the security of this hard drive is absolutely vital before it falls into the wrong hands. We need to keep its temporary loss as quiet as possible and well, you know yourself, lad, we don’t want to give anyone listening to the chatter on the airwaves any more leverage than they have already…”_

Arthur sighed and pinched his nose. “Hence, the presence of a body on location to immediately assess if the information has been compromised already…” He stood up from the bed and made his way to the kitchen. “So how long do I have?” he asked hitting the switch on the kettle and grabbing a mug, while Alan weaved his sleek form around his ankles.

_“Oh about two hours? Plenty of time. Moneypenny and Bond are waiting for you on the tarmac at Heathrow. There’s a car en route. Safe trip, lad.”_

Arthur hung up the phone and reached down to pick up and cuddle the feline form and buried his face in fur. “Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.”

* * *

“I don’t like this at all. Where in the job description does it say babysitting duties?” Bond groused from behind his sunglasses, reflecting the low cast dawn on their lenses, watching the MI6 issue vehicle speed across the tarmac to the waiting jet.

Moneypenny didn’t look at him when she replied, keeping her similarly shaded eyes on the approaching car. “Have you ever known M to make a decision that wasn’t in the best interests of the Service? She wouldn’t throw an inexperienced boffin into the field unless she a) had confidence in said boffin and b) knew it was absolutely necessary for the mission to have any chance of success.”

The car came to a halt and both agents watched with interest as the gangly, anoraked form of “said boffin” tumbled gracelessly from the back seat, hauling his laptop bag over his shoulder while the driver removed a small case from the boot.

“I have no problem with the sacrifices needed to protect the virtue of the Queen and the security of the country intact. I simply prefer to keep the innocent human collateral damage to a minimum,” Bond replied. Moneypenny’s calculated silence to that comment was interrupted by the posh tones of the boy he had left in a mess of damp, lust-tempered sheets not 2.15 hours earlier.

“Room for one more?”

* * *

The wheels had just kissed the warming British tarmac a fond farewell when it appeared that their Q Branch charge had already slipped into a deep sleep in the seat opposite Bond and Moneypenny.

Bond gave a characteristic upturn to the corner of his mouth not lost on his colleague. “Something amusing?”

Bond being Bond was incredibly tempted to boast about how he’d obviously worn the lad out to the point of exhaustion, but even he knew to stay his tongue in this situation. He’d wait until they got back… and wasn’t that a rather optimistic view of the future he was not accustomed to fielding. He looked out the window instead, at the ever-diminishing countryside beneath, the clouds enveloping them in their ascension. Moneypenny didn’t press the issue, returning her attention to studying the street layout surrounding the most recent known location of Ronson.

**Istanbul Airport**

In his relativity short career - both on and off the grid - Arthur had taken on and quenched some firewalls deemed to be the most impenetrable known to the most experienced and talented hackers. After being roused from his groggy, sedative-induced state by Moneypenny on one side and a smug-looking bastard in the shape of James Bond on the other, he was not sufficiently prepared for the wall of humidity that hit him when he stepped out from their air-conditioned confines onto foreign soil.

His glasses immediately fogged up with condensation. He slipped out of his coat almost immediately and removed his glasses to wipe them off, tousling his already sleep-ruffled mop in an effort to shake himself out of his semi-wakened state, all the while unaware of Bond’s eyes on him from behind his own shades.

“Chop chop, you two. Dillydallying is for tourists, not people on a schedule,” Moneypenny’s tone sharp through the thick heat hanging around them. Two cars stood nearby. For no reason, Bond felt the hairs on the back of his neck shift.

Bond strode up to her and fell into synchronous step while Arthur ambled a few metres behind, oblivious to most but his own discomfort. “Why two rides, Moneypenny?” Bond asked. “I’d rather we all stayed together until we’re at least at the hotel.”

“No time,” she said curtly, not breaking her stride until they reached the car. Bond reached for the crook of her elbow as her hand reached for the car door handle. She looked at him then, removing her glasses and smiled. Bond reckoned that smile could relax many a mark into a false sense of security. “Bond. These are all professionals,” she murmured. He let his hand slip away. 

“Be that as it may…”

“Be that as it is,” she replied. “Our boffin extraordinaire needs to get the safe house and set up so we can know what we need to as soon as we have the asset secured. You and I need to get to Ronson ASAP before anyone else does. Time is of the essence as you well know.”

“See you both later then!” called Arthur, climbing into the waiting door, summarily closed on him by the driver before either Moneypenny or Bond could even respond. 

“And I thought us girls were the worry warts,” she supplied, Bond could only watch the car pull away before tucking himself into the back seat. He put all thoughts of the lad to the back of his mind and re-centred his focus. Moneypenny pulled out her phone, and quickly typed to update their superior on their status. 

“Now. We collect transport, weapons and comms and wrap this up.”

If only life were so cut and dry. But where bombs, bullets and boffins with a headful of secrets collide, the cuts can be agony and drowning in the deep might be the only way to save what we love.


	3. Chapter 3

Moneypenny slowed the jeep to a crawl, allowing Bond to roll out, the vehicle still in motion. He leaned in the window.

“Eight minutes,” he said with a wink.

“Sounds about right,” Moneypenny replied with a wink of her own, pulling away. 

Bond, conspicuous in his custom silver grey suit, but with an air of confidence that defied anyone to question his presence on that street in that moment, slipped between two stalls and disappeared down a narrow alley between two buildings behind them. He reappeared forty seconds later, at the back entrance of another nondescript hovel. The blood on the stone steps leading up to the first floor immediately gave him pause. Drawing his Walther from its holster and tuning his senses to hyper alert, he cautiously but without hesitation moved smoothly upwards, primed with expectation of an attack from some quarter pending.

So it was not without a mild sense of surprise that Bond’s ears were greeted by the sound of an American accent, clearly drifting down the length of narrow corridor where he stood.

“Three you say? Good grief, you didn’t stand a chance, did you? Come on. Let’s get you out of here,” the voice huffed, obviously attempting to hoist something up. Bond, now standing at the door of the room, where he had expected to meet up with his colleague, watched the suited back of the man take hold of Ronson’s wrist to place it around his shoulders. In the next breath, he had his Walther pressed against the nape of the stranger’s neck.

“Put him down and turn around. Slowly.” 

Compliance to the command was smooth and clean. The chap obviously has excellent survival skills, Bond thought. And it was when his unknown intruder turned to face him, he realised why.

“Solo? What the bloody hell are you doing in Istanbul?”

Napoleon’s face broke into a charming smile and Bond holstered his gun, looking throughly vexed at the turn of events. 

“Why Commander Bond. Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Save it for the ladies, Solo.” A groan from the armchair brought them back to their immediate, more pressing concerns.

As soon as he noticed the dismantled laptop, he knew he was too late. He flicked on his earpiece. “Eve?”

_“Bond. They’re on the move. Just spotted three conspicuous looking characters exit your location.”_

“Call Medivac. Meet me out front.”

_“Are you—“_

“Not me. Ronson’s down.”

Napoleon, meanwhile, had returned his attentions to Ronson’s bullet wound, applying pressure to stem the bleed. “I can stay. Help stabilise him.”

“No,” Bond replied, his mouth a sharp line. “You’re here and you’ll probably be more useful with me.” He reached down and hauled Solo up and back. He took Ronson’s hand and placed it on the wound. 

“Medivac will be here in 4 minutes. Hold. On. Soldier,” Bond ordered.

Ronson could only nod weakly. 

Solo looked perturbed. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be sent on a mission with you, Bond, so willing to abandon a fellow—“

“Shut up and move,” Bond groused, pushing Solo ahead of him. “I want to know what the hell the CIA are doing interfering in an MI6 sanctioned retrieval operation. You have no bloody business being here.”

“Actually…” Solo began, pausing to turn on his heel, Bond immediately spinning him the full 360 degrees to keep their forward momentum.

“For Christ’s sake, you can walk and talk at the same time can’t you?” Bond muttered. They reached the bottom of the steps where Moneypenny idled in the jeep.

“Oh,” she observed. “You brought a friend?” pulling away sharply after both men had bundled into their seats, Bond in the front, Solo in the back.

“He’s no friend. More a royal pain in the arse…” Bond grumped, feeling his babysitting duties were spiralling out of control. Solo elected to ignore him. “Napoleon Solo, at your service,” he said smoothly and proffered a hand over Eve’s shoulder at which she spared a quick, incredulous glance before taking a sharp corner in pursuit, knocking a wing mirror clean off and knocking a CIA agent to the floor.

Bond kept his focus on the black Audi ahead and said, “That’s alright. You weren’t using it.”

Solo had just taken his seat when Eve swung the wheel a hard left, promptly knocking off her own wing mirror, and Solo, to the floor once more. “I wasn’t using that one either.” 

Solo hauled himself off the floor and onto the seat again. “Don’t mind me, will you?”

“We won’t!” both agents chimed in chorus. Solo could only roll his eyes. “You’d think I’d be accustomed to the lunatic driving of MI6 agents by now,” he muttered to himself, brushing sand and dust from his jacket.

Eve manoeuvred the jeep parallel with the Audi and Bond grabbed the wheel, barreling into its side at full tilt and forcing it off its escape route.

“Keep your heads down!” he shouted, rolling out of the vehicle and onto the ground, Walther blazing.

“Not a problem!” Napoleon called, from the floor - for a third time - as the hail of bullets began raining around them. Bond dispatched two just as the third grabbed a nearby motorcycle. His escape was not meant to be, however, Solo kicking out the back door of the jeep and knocking him clean off the bike before he could get more than twenty feet from a pursuing agent.

Eve sat up. “Mmm. Nicely done. Mr Solo you said?” reaching her hand over the back of her seat to the prone man. He took it with a wry smile in the same moment Bond was upon their captive. “Useful after all,” he said with a grin at Solo, grabbing the dazed target by the lapels on his jacket and hauling him up to press against the side of the jeep.

He punched him once and then reached into his inside pocket to pull out the hard drive casing which alas, was empty. 

A decoy.

“Bastard,” Bond gritted out. His tossed it over his shoulder, digging his fingers painfully into his neck. “Where is it?” he spat, mouth an inch from his face. Solo and Moneypenny now flanked him, looking fairly murderous themselves. 

But it was when he started to laugh, Bond immediately suspected that he had a lot more to worry about than a missing hard drive.

“The trap has been sprung. We got what we came for, MI6.”

“What does the _hell_ does that mean?” Bond asked a confused frown on his features, lifting him away from the side of the car and slamming him into it.

Solo and Moneypenny exchanged a look from behind Bond. “What’s more important than the information on that hard drive?” Solo asked.

The thug sobered then, gazing at Bond before biting down on the pill in his mouth. “My organisation does not tolerate failure. Does yours?”

Realisation dawned and Bond landed a bone crushing punch to his head, causing him to crumple to the ground, though the pill had robbed him of the pleasure of questioning him further before killing him himself. He turned to face Solo and Eve, looking for all the world like he was going to tear the city apart with his bare hands. Eve’s neck went cold under the blazing sun when realisation dawned on her with Bond’s next question mere seconds later.

“Where’s Arthur now?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

Illya glanced at his watch and then at Gaby sitting opposite. “The window has not yet closed. There is still twenty five minutes before deadline.”

Gaby sat back with a huff and crossed her arms. “I despise sitting around waiting.”

Illya continued to peruse the newspaper in front of him. “Patience is a virtue, Gaby. In our line of work, it is something in which a little investment goes a long way.”

“You do realise you are not my father, don’t you?”

He tipped the corner of the page to the side to peer around it. “Then stop acting like restless teenager?” his words tinged with vain hope. He glanced passed her briefly and resumed his read for about twenty seconds before folding the paper and placing it on the table. He stirred his coffee while looking around, seemingly casually absorbing his surroundings.

Gaby observed, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re watching someone.”

“I am not,” he replied, leaning back in his chair, coffee cup in hand hovering before his lips.

“And you cannot lie to save your life. At least not to me.” She reached into her bag and removed a compact. Flicking it open, she made a show of reapplying her concealer, scanning the space behind her for possible suspects who were the target of Illya’s attentions. It took her a few seconds to hone in on the average height, slender figure in a loosely fitting lime-green cotton shirt and courduroys with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder standing at the check-in desk. The desk clerk pointed to the far side of the lobby where the elevators were located and the man turned.

“Cute,” she said with a smile before replacing the compact in her bag. Illya shook his head and sipped his coffee, while Arthur, in his peripheral vision, strolled behind their seats checking his phone.

“You think you’re clever, Chop Shop.” She cocked an eyebrow suggesting that’s exactly what she thought. He put his cup on the table and rested his elbows on his knees. Even sitting down, his size possessed the room. There was a twinkle in his eye. “But if you were really paying attention…” he paused.

“Dramatic effect, Illya?” she said with a touch of sarcasm.

“As I was saying, if you were really paying attention, you would have noticed the man and woman following him.” He immediately stood. “It seems you are more distracted by pretty boys with dark hair and glasses than me.” He made to move towards them. “Wait here.”

Gaby tipped her gaze in the direction of the elevator and indeed, two people were standing behind the spectacle-wearing unknown. To the untrained eye they wouldn’t be spared a second glance, but the eyes of Illya Kuryakin had seen too much in this world not to recognise threat and danger when they presented themselves, however subtle their manifestations. She watched him reach the elevator, the doors pinging open and Illya step in. He had the audacity to throw a wink in her direction just as the doors slid shut. She flopped back in her seat and resigned herself to the fact that it was going to be one of those kind of days.

* * *

Illya pressed the button for the fourteenth floor - one floor higher than the couple and three floors higher than the object of their mutual interest. He stepped to the back of the space, behind Arthur, already having noted the unusual bulge beneath the jacket of his male stalker. Illya noted the uneasy tension in the young man’s shoulders and took another small step back, but not before taking note of the room number on the keycard in his hand. Illya slipped a tracker into an empty side pocket of his messenger bag and hoped he wouldn’t locate it any time soon. He had the feeling that said bag went everywhere he did. The elevator arrived at his floor and Illya got his next piece of relevant information when he heard the posh, clipped, British accent.

“Won’t you excuse me?” Arthur said softly, gently pushing his way towards the door, the couple in front stepping aside to make way. The doors were closing when the woman reached out to stop them.

“Oh goodness me, darling. I forgot to stop at the front desk and pick up that earring I lost in the pool…” She pecked her partner on the lips and stepped out. “I’ll just pop back down and see you in the suite in five minutes?” She blew him a kiss which he made a show of catching from the air and she sailed confidently in the same direction Arthur had taken.

The man was not expecting to be addressed by a tall looming Russian. “Your woman is very beautiful.”

The man gave a throwaway chuckle. “Don’t be fooled, she’s as dangerous as she is attractive.”

“Aren’t they all?” Illya replied. “So dangerous you must carry concealed weapon to protect yourself from her beauty?”

The man’s reflexes were viper-like, swinging his arm in an arc with the obvious intent of striking Illya’s carotid, but Illya was prepared, deflecting the arm with one hand and grabbing the wrist of the other which now held the gun. The brutal efficiency of his training ebbed to the surface and he had him disarmed and in a chokehold in seconds.

“Why were you following him?” But an answer didn’t come, Illya watching the man’s face turn a deathly pale and a trail of foam leave the corner of his mouth before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor.

The doors slid open and a woman screamed. Illya adjusted his demeanour to one of confusion and shock and began heart massage. “Call an ambulance!” he barked. The wide-eyed woman, still with her hand over her mouth, quickly composed herself and pulled out her phone saying, “I’m a doctor.”Illya nodded and stepped out, leaving her to it. If he could extract himself with a minimum fuss from the situation he’d take the opportunity. He ran towards the stairs and took them in long-legged strides back to the floor beneath, hoping he wasn’t too late.

* * *

_Blessed peace…_

No M, no Moneypenny, no Bond. Just Arthur and the opportunity to rewire the circuits in his brain before they converged on his location with the hard drive. Snatching moments here and there to bask in the mathematics of music was all well and good but to truly lose oneself, a hot bath was the order of the day and it was certainly something much needed given the events of the last 18 hours.

It may only be a brief respite but he had no intention of letting it go to waste. He moved to pop on his headphones and tilted the Lazyboy back while waiting for the large opulent tub to fill with water. The rap-tap-tap on his door followed with a brusque “Room service!” halted his self-ministrations. He sighed. He had asked for some food to be brought up but had requested the order be stayed for an hour. He opened the door and was greeted by two maids with a bedding trolley.

He frowned. “There must be some mistake…” he started.

“No mistake,” one of the girls replied raising a gun and pulling the trigger. The dart did its work in seconds. Between them, the girls bundled the unconscious boffin into the trolley and grabbed the messenger bag containing his laptop. They had cleared the corridor by the time Illya came bounding down it from the opposite direction.

When he saw the door ajar, he knew he was too late. He walked in and looked around. A quick, clean, efficient extraction. Highly professional. Messenger bag and all. _Good,_ he thought. _One advantage at least._ He turned off the taps and took out his phone to dial Gaby.

_“Superb timing, Illya. Guess who just walked in and it seems he can’t even go on a mission without making friends and influencing people…”_


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur was shaken bodily awake by the sudden braking of the vehicle of which he currently occupying the back. It smelled of fresh laundry, faint perfume and the all-too-familiar smell of computer hardware, all shiny and new. He groaned groggily and hauled his upper body into an upright position against the side of the van.

“Your glasses.”

A young woman sat opposite him, one hand outstretched with his spectacles, the other brandishing a gun, safety on. She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place her and Arthur could only curse himself for not being more of a people person when he needed to be.

“Thank you,” he replied, polite as he could muster, reaching forward his cable-tied wrists to take them from her. He slipped them on and she came into sharper focus. “I don’t suppose you’ll give me the pleasure of the name of the person I’m addressing?”

“Not at the moment, no,” she replied. “The future is unwritten shall we say and it’s always best to keep some of it in the shadows.” Arthur tensed slightly when she reached behind her seat and pulled out his messenger bag, containing his precious laptop.

“I must admit I’m somewhat confused as to what use I am to you. I am merely a tech staffer and as far down the intelligence pecking order—“

She raised her hand with the gun. “Save the false modesty. We know who you are and my employer has been planning this coup for long enough to know what you’ll become.” She smiled, knowing and confident. “Given the right set of circumstances of course…” She placed the bag between them and revealed an iPad from a case at her feet. She booted up the screen and turned the feed towards him.

Arthur watched in nauseating horror at the images unfold before him.

* * *

“Oh my God…”

It had been thirty minutes since Arthur had been taken. Waverley was on the phone to UNCLE HQ and Illya was negotiating access with his KGB handler to a Russian GPS that would help them locate the missing MI6 asset. Gaby, Bond and Solo were in a heated discussion about the benefits of stealth rescue versus the all-guns-blazing approach.

“OH MY GOD!” Moneypenny’s louder exclamation caused the group to pause.

Bond was the first to approach her, taking three strides to come to her side and look over her shoulder at the phone screen at which she was currently staring wide-eyed, her hand over a gasping mouth. Despite his unflappable demeanour, Bond felt his stomach flip at the headline, and the live feed coming from the BBC website.

MI6 UNDER ATTACK. EXPLOSION ROCKS VAUXHALL. CASUALTIES UNKNOWN.

“Christ,” Bond exhaled. Moneypenny was on the phone, attempting to reach someone, anyone, to get a status update. Gaby switched on the TV in the room and brought up the CNN feed. Everyone absorbed the scene in front of them - the billowing smoke, the remnants of flames being fought by the fire service…

Illya had simply shifted the tone of his conversation, speaking in fluent Russian for a further twenty seconds before hanging up.

“Oleg is checking. Not happy about my using KGB tech without authorisation in case it falls into wrong hands, but says under such extenuating circumstances, he can provide uplink to UNCLE server to track your agent within the hour.”

In that moment, Waverley had also hung up his call. “I’ve just spoken to M. She has authorised UNCLE to pursue the kidnappers.”

Bond visibly bristled. “Now wait just a damn minute, Arthur is our man…”

“As am I, 007,” Waverley shot back. “You are to follow your original orders which are to locate and regain the hard drive before its contents can be decoded and even more intelligence officers are lost to the enemy.”

Moneypenny placed her hand in the crook of Bond’s arm, the visibly tense agent not yielding an inch. Not until the next words uttered by her gave them all a heightened sense of urgency to find their missing boffin.

“Bond…”

“What?” he groused, seething he was being sidelined from Arthur’s rescue. “I’ve just spoken with Tanner. Intel is sketchy but given his last known location in the building, it looks like we lost Q.”

Bond turned then, a fleeting moment of regret and loss glancing over his face. Realisation of the full implications of that loss were swift to follow. “Who…?”

Moneypenny didn’t have to say, Waverley already having been appraised by M on the new level of urgency to retrieve both Arthur and the hard drive.

“Your Quartermaster’s replacement is currently MIA and in the hands of God only knows who.” Waverley sighed deeply. “Quite genius really. Snatch the successor, remove the incumbent. All Q Branch protocols and system controls will have automatically passed to Arthur on the retirement or untimely death of Boothroyd.”

He faced the waiting group. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get to it!”

They didn’t need to be barked at twice.


End file.
